The Bet
by notsing
Summary: Kidfic.  I don't own Numb3rs.


The Bet

"What could it be?"

"I dunno. Why have it in a jar?"

"That's my point. It's got to be something worth keeping, or it wouldn't be in this jar."

Both boys pondered the black powder in an old glass jar.

"I know! I bet it's gun powder!" exclaimed Donnie.

"Why would someone keep gun powder?" objected Nate.

"What do you mean? I would keep gun powder. Who wouldn't?" observed Donnie.

"Yeah, but do you know what? My uncle hunts, and reloads his shotgun shells, and the gun powder he uses is gray with pink specks," said Nate.

"Yeah, but, I read something about that, and that's modern gun powder. Old fashioned gun powder is black. They changed it 'cause it was so dangerous," explained Donnie.

"See? That's why I don't think it's gun powder. Black gun powder is too dangerous. No one would keep that around."

"Well, what is it then, if you're so smart?" challenged Donnie.

"I dunno. Maybe coal powder," offered Nate.

"Coal powder! I never even heard of coal powder! Why would anyone keep an old jar of coal powder in an old shed?"

"Why not?" answered Nate. "It makes as much sense as keeping an old jar of black gun powder in an old shed."

"You're nuts!" said Donnie.

"So are you!" shot back Nate.

The two best friends glared at each other.

"I bet I'm right!" insisted Donnie.

"Well, I bet I'm right!" Nate returned.

"How much will you bet? Are you sure enough to bet your Fernando Valenzuela rookie card on it?"

Nate hesitated. He really wanted to keep his Valenzuela card. On the other hand, he would like to have Steve Garvey's baseball card, currently in Donnie's possession.

"Sure, if you'll bet Garvey's card."

It was Donnie's turn to hesitate. But he wasn't use to backing down.

"Sure."

There was a moment of silence while the two boys realized that though they may have settled the terms of the bet, there was still the problem of finding out who had won the bet.

"How do we know? And what if we're both wrong?"

"Well," Donnie thought. "Tell you what, I'll ask Charlie if there's a way to tell black gun powder from coal powder.

"If we're both wrong, then the bet's off, and we just both keep our own cards, okay?"

"You''re going to ask your kid brother? He' s only 6!"

"Hey! You know how smart Charlie is! He knows alot. If that doesn't work, we'll try going to the library and looking it up."

"Uh, Charlie? What do you know about black gun powder?" asked Donnie.

Charlie blinked, surprised, "Well, it's pretty basic chemistry. It's just a combination of sulpher, charcoal and potassium nitrate. It's very easy to make, actually. It's still used, but there's a more modern gun powder that..."

"Charlie!" interrupted Donnie, "I'm NOT interested in the new gun powder, only black gun powder. And I don't really care about it's chemical make-up. What else can you tell me about it?"

Charlie's feelings were bruised, "Well, it's highly combustable. Light a match to it, and it explodes. That's what fireworks are made out of."

Donnie looked pleased, "What about coal powder? What if you light a match to coal powder?"

"Coal powder?" Charlie considered. "Well, it would probably burn slowly. They use coal powder to make charcoal briquettes."

"Great! Thanks Buddy!"

Charlie looked at his big brother, "Why? What's up?"

Donnie didn't want to admit that he and Nate had sneaked into a neighbor's shed and found an old jar with some black powder in it.

"Um, well, Nate and I were arguing about it, and I told him you would know, but he didn't believe me. He said we would have to go to the library. But I knew you could tell me!"

The diversion worked. Charlie, as always, was pleased by his older brother's attention and flattery.

It wasn't until it was too late that he realized that it was strange for Donnie and Nate to be fighting over gun powder and coal powder.

Donnie slipped into the old shed, grateful to be out of the rain, that was coming down in sheets. He anxiously felt for the matches he had hidden in his jacket pocket, hoping they weren't wet.

"Oh good, they're still dry, " he remarked to Nate who was already waiting for him in the shed.

Nate looked surprised, "Why do you have matches?"

"For the bet, of course," replied Donnie, impatiently. "This is how we find out if the powder is black gun powder, or coal powder. Put a match to black gun powder, and it explodes, like fireworks. Light a match to coal powder, and it burns slow, like charcoal. That's what Charlie told me."

"So what are we going to do, drop matches into it?" questioned Nate.

"Unless you have a better idea!" retorted Donnie. "You're not backing out of our bet, are you?"

Nate was stung, "Of course not! Just, um, is it safe?"

"Sure! Why wouldn't it be? Either we have some fireworks, or we have like charcoal burning. What could go wrong? Here, hold the jar, and I'll drop a match in."

But when the match hit the powder, nothing happened, the match fizzled and went out; so did the next seven matches.

"We only have a couple of matches left," Donnie worried. "Why won't they stay lit?"

"Here," suggested Nate. "You hold the jar, and I'll drop in the match."

So the eleven-year-olds changed places, and Nate dropped the match in, his face peering into the top of the jar, while Donnie held the jar tight in his right hand. There was a sudden flash, then everything went black.

It was the burning throb in his right hand that he was conscious of first. Immediately, other parts of his body starting registering pain and discomfort. His face burned, as well as his hand, his back hurt, his ears rang, and why was he wet?

Cautiously, Donnie opened his eyes and found himself staring at a gray sky, with rain pelting down on him.

Confused, Donnie turned his head and looked around, puzzled as to why he would be flat on his back outside in the rain. Wasn't he in a shed? Where did the shed go? Nate! Where was Nate?

Donnie sat up abruptly, then fell back again, dizzy. He could hear a puppy whimpering in pain, and felt bad. He thought he should go help the puppy, and he'd try to do that, as soon as he could move.

Finally, he reluctantly pushed himself up again, and this time everything didn't go spinning around. He looked slowly around for the puppy, then realized it was actually Nate who was crying.

Nate was curled up in the fetal position, moaning.

"Nate? Are you okay?" Donne crawled over to his friend, but didn't know what to do.

"Hey, Nate? I hope you're okay. Should I go for help?"

Nate straightened out, and rolled over to look at Donnie, "My face feels like it's on fire!"

Donnie could believe it. He face burned too, and Nate's face was red and swollen, smeared with black soot, and looked strange.

"Sorry. What do you want me to do? Get your mom?"

Nate was tearful, "No, I just want to go home."

He got on his hands and knees then suddenly shoved his face into a mud puddle.

Donnie stared at him, "Why did you do that?"

"I told you! My face burns!" Nate staggered to his feet.

Donnie, standing also, noticed that they were surrounded by debris. "Wow. Is this the shed? We blew it up?"

"I think so," said Nate in a small voice. "I guess this means you won the bet."

At that point Donnie didn't care about any baseball card, all he really wanted was his mom.

Limping, the two boys heading for home. They got to Nate's house first, then Donnie went on alone. The tutor's car was in the driveway, so Donnie knew Mom would be in the solarium.

He crept slowly up the stairs, conscious of the fact that he wasn't to disturb Charlie's lessons unless it was an emergency. Donnie wasn't sure if this was an emergency or not, except his hand really hurt, and he really, really wanted his mom.

He stood in the doorway, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, hoping his mom would notice him. Margaret did, and was not pleased. She frowned at Donnie, then got up and swiftly moved to the door, throwing an apologetic look at the tutor.

"Donnie! What do you want? You're interrupting!" she hissed.

Donnie held up his right hand, "I cut myself. It's bleeding."

Margaret sighed, "Okay, let's go into the bathroom, and I'll bandage it."

But after cleaning the hand, Margaret only found a small cut, "Honestly, Donnie. You bothered me for this? This isn't bad. Why are you making such a fuss?"

Margaret finally looked at her son's face, waiting for an answer, and realized Donnie's face was red, swollen, and funny looking.

"Donnie!" she gasped, "What happened to your eyebrows? They're gone! And so are your eyelashes!"

Taking stock of her son, she realized he smelt singed, and his jacket front looked burned.

"Oh my God! What happened?"

Alan met them at the ER, and shortly afterwards the Watts came in with Nate.

Luckily, neither boy was seriously hurt. Nate spent the night in the hospital, and missed a few days of school. Donnie's hand was bandaged, and he was excused from school work for about a week (which pleased him a great deal).

Mr. Johnson apologized repeatedly for keeping black gun powder where kids could get to it. Donnie and Nate, at their parents insistance, apologized for going into his shed, where they had no right to be. They also apologized for blowing up the shed.

About a week later, after the dust had cleared (in more ways than one), Nate approached Donnie, "Here, this is yours."

It was Fernando Valenzuela's rookie card.

"That's okay, you keep it," said Donnie.

"But you won it, fair and square," pointed out Nate.

Donnie grinned at his friend, "I know, but you spent the night in the hospital, and I'm the one who said it was safe to drop matches into that jar. So you keep the card and we're even, okay?"

"Sure! Unless you want to give me your Steve Garvey card!"

"Don't push it!"

_Believe it or not, this is based on a true story. When I was a little older than Charlie in this story, my brother and his best friend (about the same age as Donnie in the story) actually did this. However, this happened during winter in the midwest, so my brother's friend stuck his face in a pile of snow, not a mud puddle. Otherwise, this is a pretty accurate account of what happened. My poor brother will NEVER live it down. _


End file.
